Chapter 2 - Shadows on the WaterfrontThe rain outside hammered against the glass storefront like a barrage of small stones, washing out the neon glow of the bakery next door. Inside, the sterile overhead light buzzed, casting a harsh, clinical glare over the small room.
Ruby worked with practiced efficiency. She disinfected her hands, snipped away the matted fur around Caesar's shoulder wound, and applied a thick layer of antibiotic ointment. Throughout it all, Caesar kept his amber eyes locked on Luca, though his body remained firmly anchored across Ruby's feet.
"It's not a bullet wound," Ruby muttered, leaning over the massive dog's shoulder. "Looks like shrapnel or a deep tear from jagged iron. Where did he get this?"
"An abandoned warehouse near Pier 4," Luca said, handing her a sterile gauze pad without being asked. His movements were precise, almost surgical. "We cleared out a rival crew. There was an explosion. Caesar bolted before we could secure him."
"An explosion," Ruby repeated, her voice dripping with skepticism. "And you didn't think to look for your lead protection dog before hunting down a local animal shelter?"
"We looked," Viktor snapped from the doorway, arms crossed over his massive chest. "We tracked him here through the city cameras. He’s tagged."
"Tagged like cargo," Ruby said bitterly. "No wonder he ran. You treat him like a piece of high-tech security hardware, and then you're shocked when he malfunctions."
Luca looked down at her, his expression unreadable. "He's not hardware. He's a Cane Corso. Bred to protect, trained to kill if necessary. Sentimentality gets people killed in my world, Ms. Hart."
"Well, lucky for you, I'm not in your world," Ruby shot back, tying off the gauze wrap with a neat, professional knot. She patted Caesar’s broad head. "There. All done, big guy. You can stop using my toes as a footrest now."
Caesar gave a soft huff, finally shifting his weight. Ruby stood up, her knee popping loudly in the quiet room. She winced, rubbing her joint through her trousers.
Luca watched her closely. "You're injured."
"Just old age and bad posture, Mr. Marchetti. Neither of which can be fixed with a stitch kit." Ruby turned to wash her hands at the stainless-steel sink. "Now that your property is accounted for and patched up, I suggest you take your little army and get out before my landlord calls the police."
"Your landlord is behind on three months of lease payments," Luca said casually, leaning against the counter. "I bought the block last November."
Ruby froze, her hands dripping water into the basin. She slowly turned around, wiping her hands on a paper towel. "You what?"
"I own this building," Luca repeated, his eyes glinting with a dangerous, quiet amusement. "Which means I decide who stays, who goes, and whether the rent is collected."
Before Ruby could formulate a furious response, the front door’s electronic chime chimed—not with the gentle ring of a customer, but with the sharp, stuttering alarm of the security monitor.
Viktor’s hand instantly went to his holster. "Boss. We’ve got movement outside. Three unmarked sedans just pulled up front. No headlights."
Luca’s easy demeanor vanished in a fraction of a second. The warmth in his eyes drained away, replaced by pure, predatory ice. He straightened up, his broad shoulders tensing.
"Not our guys," Luca whispered.
May you like
Ruby’s breath caught in her throat. "What are you talking about?"
"It means," Luca said, drawing a heavy, suppressed automatic pistol from his shoulder holster with terrifying smoothness, "someone tracked Caesar here. And they didn't come to negotiate."
